


Riding the D Train

by QueenoftheProcrastination



Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: Alley Sex, Anonymous Sex, Dirty Talk, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Size Difference, irl this would be creepy af, its sexy when its fiction okay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:35:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29458344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheProcrastination/pseuds/QueenoftheProcrastination
Summary: You lock eyes with a tall, disheveled irishman on the subway. Smut ensures.
Relationships: Mad Sweeney (American Gods)/Reader, Mad Sweeney (American Gods)/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	Riding the D Train

**Author's Note:**

> All I can say is that Pablo Schrieber is one tall drink of water and I'm *thirsty*

You usually hate it when you can feel someone looking at you on your daily commute--there’s always a weirdo or two on the subway, and you try your best to steer clear of them. But when you look up from your phone, your breath leaves your lungs. On the bench across from you sprawls a gorgeous auburn haired man. And he’s staring directly at you.

For once you don’t look away reflexively, but instead, you meet his frank stare head on. You can’t tell what his eye color is from this distance, but they seem to stare straight down to your soul. 

He draws his thumb across his lower lip and slowly rakes his eyes over you. You suddenly feel too hot and your pulse beats against your neck. His gaze scorches your skin as he blatantly maps the curves of your breasts and hips, the dip of your waist. You’re dressed for work--nude heels, a little grey pencil skirt, and a simple button-up--and for the first time in your life, it strikes you just how sexy business casual can be. 

_He_ on the other hand, is not dressed for work--at least not for work in an office. He’s wearing a jean jacket with only a white undershirt beneath and a pair of green trousers that looked like old army fatigues. Shabby work boots finish the ensemble. His thick ginger hair is cut short on the sides but is long and wild on top, his beard as well. A white cigarette is tucked behind his ear. 

The train begins to slow as it approaches the next stop. When the doors open, the man across from you unfolds his tall frame and you feel a throb of disappointment. You were hoping you’d at least get to enjoy being ogled for a few more stops. But as people flow into the car, he doesn’t leave. Instead he offers his seat to a new passenger, and moves to stand in front of you. 

The doors hiss closed and the train lurches forward into the dark tunnel. Next to your temple, his big fist grips the metal stability pole and your knees peak out from between his legs.

You look up at him, and of course he’s staring at you, hazel eyes that glow with an almost manic light. He’s so close to you, and you can feel the heat radiating off of his golden, freckled skin--he smells of the sea and leather, of tobacco and sex. You want to press your face to the curve of his neck and savor it. 

You glance down again, unable to maintain such audacious eye contact, only to realize his crotch is level with your face. It’s kind of obscene, actually; you’re just sitting here, and this big, gorgeous man practically has his cock in your face on a public train. You squirm in your seat, a flush heating your skin at the thought. You’re hot between your thighs, aching at the thought. 

When you look up again, he grins and gives you a sly wink, causing your stomach to flip. 

_Does he know I was looking at his dick?_

You look down again, flustered, and realize that he _definitely_ knows you’re looking at his dick, because it's very clearly outlined against his pants (at least from your front-row seat). Involuntarily, you swallow and lick your lips: he looks _big_. And now you can’t get the mental image of him unzipping his pants and stuffing his cock in your mouth. 

The train slows as it approaches another platform. You glance at the little light-up map above the doors. 

“My stop is next.”

You didn’t really mean to speak to him--honestly, you probably _shouldn’t_ speak to him--sexy though he was, it didn’t mean he was good for you. The train takes off again but he doesn’t say anything. You wonder if he heard you. 

When the train comes to the next stop--your stop--you stand. He steps back half a step as you rise. But you’re still so close that you feel the hard column of his body graze against yours as you stand. Most of the people leaving at this stop have gotten off the train by now, and new passengers are beginning to flood in. 

With one last look up at him, you duck under his arm and make your way to the platform. Unfortunately, the doors snap shut just as you make it through the crowd. 

“Fuck,” you snap, slapping your palm against plexiglass doors. 

The train lurches forward and you scramble to brace yourself against the cushion on the plastic wall. The platform rushes past, and soon the windows are plunged into subterranean darkness. 

“Miss your stop, lass?” 

His soft voice washes over you, and it takes you a moment to realize he has an accent. You look up at him--and somehow, you _know_ it’s him. He’s still gripping the metal pole, but he’s in front of you now and his broad shoulders block nearly all of the train around you. It should feel threatening; instead, you feel safe, cozy, even. 

“I can always double-back,” you finally reply. 

“Can you now?” He grins down at you. “I reckon it wouldn’t hurt to get a drink with me before you do.”

You smile. 

* * *

[10 Minutes Later]

His big, hard body presses you into the wall as his fingers dig into your hair. You can feel his warm breath against your neck and his chest heaves into your back. His other hand runs along your leg, up your hip, rucking up your skirt until the backs of your thighs are bare to the cool night air.

“You dirty girl,” he growls. “I saw you lookin', saw you shift and shimmy in your seat as you thought about me stuffing your pretty little mouth full. Practically beggin’ me for it with those 'fuck-me' lips of yours.” 

You moan, pressing your hips back, your body betraying the truth in his words. His rough fingers dip between your legs, rubbing against the gusset of your tights and panties. The layers of fabric deaden the feeling, giving you friction that’s both delicious and not enough. You need to feel his bare skin against yours, his finger buried inside of you. 

“Fucking...fucking _hell_ ,” you pant out. 

“Gonna fuck you right here in this alley,” he says into your hair; the hand between your legs tears your tights open. “Cause I know my girl needs it.”

You whimper, and he gives your hair a little tug. “Tell me I’m right, luv.” 

The sounds falling from your lips are pure need at this point. You don’t understand why, but you’ve never felt desire this strong, this relentless. You’re rolling your hips, your ass grinding against the stiff bulge in his pants, desperate for the feeling of him closer, harder, _deeper_. 

“Oh _god_ , yes,” you manage to gasp. “I need--I ne…”

He shushes you, smoothing your hair away from your temples before planting a soft kiss. “I know, treasure, I know.”

His hand retreats and you feel the loss of his warmth against your thighs. Then you hear the sound of a zipper. 

“Oh my god,” you gasp when you feel something hard and hot press between your legs. 

He nudges your legs further apart so he can rub his cockhead against your panties, making everything slippery between with his precum and your own arousal. 

“My good girl,” he grunts, letting go of your hair to squeeze and tease your breasts. “Beg me to fuck you. Wanna hear that pretty mouth workin’.” 

“I...I don’t know your name,” you manage to pant out--your brain is a haze of lust and frustration, but the point feels important. 

A calloused finger hooks into your underwear and tugs them to the side. You feel the hot velvet skin of his dick press against your aching, sensitive pussy, running up and down, seeking, searching for just the right angle. Every other second he’s running into your sensitive little clit, sending sparks cascading across your body. 

He’s unbuttoned your shirt enough that he can reach in and grasp your bare breasts, his hand burning hot against your skin. He tweaks your nipple, rolling it before giving it a sharp little tug. 

“Sweeney,” he rasped. “Name’s Sweeney, treasure.”

“Sweeney.” The name tastes like honey on your tongue. “Sweeney. Fuck me, plea--”

And then he pushes into you. The world around you disappears in that moment, and all you’re aware of is the warm, comforting presence of him curled around you. His cock fills you, surging and filling your tight, silken cunt. He keeps pushing and _god_ you’ve never been so full. Finally, with a primal, ragged, groan, he hilts himself fully inside of you. 

“Fuck that’s good,” he says, beginning to nibble at your ear, one hand rubs your lower back in small soothing motions. “So fuckin’ good. Such a hot little cunt between your legs, luv.” 

Slowly the world comes back to you--the rough brick beneath your cheek, the cold air biting around the both of you--though his big body blocks most of the wind. But the heat of him, the sheer power radiating off of him is still there, still around you and filling you.

You let out a contented sigh and begin to wiggle, ready for him to move, to rock his hips and drive you to a little death. His heavy cock eases the ache inside of you while simultaneously making you ravenous for more. 

The hand on your hip grips harder for a moment, stilling your desperate squirms, “use your words, baby.”

“Sweeney,” you pant, reaching back to sink your nails into his firm ass. “Move goddamnit!” 

A deep, hearty bellow of a laugh rings out as he obliges, his body curling into yours like he can’t get close enough, like he needs to make sure every inch of his cock fills you. He thrusts at a near desperate pace and his breath is hot and ragged against the back of your neck. Hands roam your body, alternating between rough squeezes and near-tender caresses. 

"Oh my god," you gasp as he pounds into you, as your body sparks and shivers with each burst of pleasure. "Oh my god Sweeney!"

You’re barreling towards your orgasm; embers of pleasure fan into an inferno. Each desperate snap of his hips, each thrust of that thick cock filling you. Your cheeks are burning, flushed with desire and you’re sure your eyes are glazed. 

You’re cock drunk and rapidly unraveling. 

“Oh god-- _oh my god_ ,” you pant, throwing one hand out in front of you to brace against the wall. The other hand is anchored to his hip, both pulling him closer and trying to hold him at bay. As if you could possibly be a match for his strength, his ferocious need. 

“Mmm you gonna cum for me, baby?” He asks, pressing hot open mouthed kisses along your jaw. “You gonna milk my big Irish dick for my cum?”

“ _Sweeney_!” 

His words send you over the edge and you scream his name. Behind you Sweeney laughs--great manic bellows of joy as your cunt begins squeezing the fat shaft wedged inside of you. His movements are frantic, frenzied even, as he sinks into you with a final ear-splitting shout that echoes off the brick walls of the alley. You feel the hot jets of his seed fill you, wave after wave of his cum until he’s panting, his forehead pressed against your shoulder and his big body shaking around you. 

The your ragged breaths fill the air as the sounds of the city around you slowly come back into focus. A moment later he moves away and you feel empty and cold. Crossing your arms over your chest, you're suddenly aware of just how naked you are. 

The feeling doesn’t last long; he’s turned you around to face him, his big hands grasping the sides of your face as he presses a reverent kiss to your forehead. 

“Let’s get you a cab home, princess,” he says, brushing your hair out of your face, his hands clumsy but gentle. 

He helps you put yourself back together and buckles his own jeans and belt. You walk down the alley, hardly believing no one noticed you getting your brains fucked out. The two of you were certainly loud enough to alert the entire neighborhood.

Casually, he slings an arm around your shoulder as you reach the street, and hails a cab. He even opens the door for you, and leans in to give the driver a wad of bills to “take the lady wherever she wants.”

As he pulls away a hot stab of panic grips you. Without thought, you reach for him. He freezes, his eyes glued to your small hand on his arm. 

“Come with me,” you say, breathless. 

A grin breaks out across his face and he climbs into the cab next to you. He seems to glow with pride, or maybe that’s the post-coital bliss you’ve heard so much about. Either way, he looks divine. 


End file.
